


Trust in the Process

by clio_jlh



Category: Top Design
Genre: F/M, Female Characters, Interior Decorating, Plot What Plot, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-29
Updated: 2008-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-03 22:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clio_jlh/pseuds/clio_jlh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carisa was satisfied with her second place finish, but as soon as the cameras were turned off, she realized she had some unfinished business to take care of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust in the Process

**Author's Note:**

> _Top Design_ going into season 2 gave me a reason to dig this not-quite-finished fic out of the mothballs and give it a shine, with a lot of help from [](http://adjudicated.livejournal.com/profile)[**adjudicated**](http://adjudicated.livejournal.com/) who gave it a great beta.

She'd said in her interview that it was the best ending possible and she'd meant it. She was walking out of this competition with a new confidence and more doors open than she'd ever thought possible. But when she left the white room and saw the look on Carl's face, she remembered that she wasn't the only one affected by the judges' decision.

Carisa knew that she wasn't particularly good at remembering she wasn't the center of the universe; she usually got there eventually, though after the normal person would have. So after a consolation hug, where she assured Carl that really, she was fine--more disappointed for him than for her--she told him to sit tight for a moment and sought out the line producer. Surely it couldn't hurt to ask for just one more favor.

* * *

 

"Look at that moon, Carl. I was so smart to put the bed here."

"It's like laying in a field and watching the clouds overhead."

"Oh, like Charlie Brown?"

Carl chuckled. "Yeah, like Charlie Brown."

Carisa had already taken Carl out for a late night supper (good thing Carl was an LA native because finding an open restaurant was much harder than Carisa had been expecting) before adjourning to the somewhat empty loft with a bottle of celebratory champagne and a couple of Solo cups. The furniture borrowed from the Pacific Design Center had been returned and the props removed while everyone was at the white room, but the loft wouldn't be demoed until the next morning, and producer Marc had left the sheets and pillows on the bed. So, they lay flat on their back in the bed-pit, looking out from the darkened apartment through those beautiful leaded windows at the Hollywood Hills.

"That makes me Linus," Carissa said.

"I'd say you're more like Lucy," Carl replied.

"Carl!" Carisa protested, giggling and smacking him in the thigh. "I wasn't that bad, was I?"

Carl raised one eyebrow.

"Okay, don't answer that. We made some beautiful rooms, though."

"Yep. Even had some good times."

"We managed a few." Carisa pulled herself up on her elbows and looked down at Carl.

He rolled onto his side, propping his head up on one hand. "I didn't think I'd say this, but I'm gonna miss you."

"Me too, Carl. You'll always be my first call whenever I'm in LA." One elbow slipped and Carisa's upper body tipped toward Carl. "Whoops. Carl, are you sure we won't be sick after the beer we had at dinner?"

"For the purposes of 'beer before liquor,' champagne is the same as beer," Carl replied.

"Good, then I'm having some more," she said, sitting all the way up to empty the bottle into their two cups. They toasted, silently, and drank.

Carisa was looking out the window, but she was very aware of Carl, looming large in her peripheral vision. The king-size bed was certainly large enough for the two of them, but shifting had brought them rather close together, such that one of his knees was next to her thigh, and she thought it would burn a hole through her jeans. She was very glad she'd changed out of her skirt, but equally glad that she was still wearing her makeup. "Um," she said.

"Just _go_ with it, Carisa," Carl said.

Later, she wouldn't be able to remember exactly how they'd started kissing, but she couldn't forget what it felt like. Carl had strong hands, of course, and a rather large head, and before she really knew it the cups had been removed to the lip of the bed and she was flat on her back, making out with him. It went from pleasant to passionate in about five seconds, probably the time it took her to start kissing him back, and shirts were shed pretty quickly.

They were skin to skin now, Carl's chest hair pleasantly scratchy against her. His mouth was warm and wet on her breasts, his hands working to unfasten her jeans and then they were gone, and she remembered a friend of hers saying that men really did get better with age and practice and damn, she had to agree. His hand slipped between her legs then, and practice or no, she had to say something.

"Carl?" she whispered, lifting up her head.

He stayed to his task, gently pushing her legs open.

"Carl?" she asked, pulling up to lean back on her elbows.

He hummed into her breast.

"Carl!" she said.

He lifted his head. "Carisa, I'm doing a thing here."

"I know _that_. I just—I need _stuff_."

"Stuff."

"You know," she said, waving her hands. "Stuff that needs to happen so I can … climax."

Carl grinned. "Did you really just say 'climax'?"

"What did you want me to say, cum? This isn't a porno."

"It isn't an encounter group, either."

"What? Carl, you aren't that old."

He sighed. "I think the _thing_ that you need is to calm down and trust in the process. I know what I'm doing, and I'm sure you'll make enough noise to tell me if I've hit the jackpot. Okay?"

Carisa pursed her lips, and took a deep breath. "Okay."

"Trust in the process."

"Trust in the process, okay," she said, laying back down.

Carl shook his head, then eased her knees further apart and slid his warm hand—warm hand!—between her legs. She relaxed and thought, trust in the process, trust in the process. Carl glanced up at her, caught her eye and winked, then tucked his head down, moving his tongue where his hand had been.

She couldn't think for a moment, and then she heard herself moaning, low in the back of her throat. Carl chuckled, his laugh muffled by her skin.

She would have made a smart remark, but it was more in her interest at that moment to stay quiet. Well, except for the moaning.

* * *

 

Carisa was woken rather early the next morning by the sun streaming through the large window. "Shit," she thought, and reached along the lip of the bed for her glasses. The view was almost as beautiful as it had been the night before, and she'd be sorry to leave it. Carl wasn't there, and she wasn't surprised; they probably shouldn't have spent the night together in the first place. But she couldn't help feeling glad they did--it seemed a fitting good-bye. She reached for her clothes and was thankfully pretty well dressed when she heard someone walking through the other room.

She stood up, and was surprised to see Carl, with a small bag in his hand. "Thought we could make mimosas out of the rest of that champagne," he said, "and I got a couple of muffins, too. Cranberry, right?"

"Yeah," she said, and grabbed the bottle and glasses from the night before. Standing there, they poured champagne and orange juice into the cups. "I'm sorry we didn't win," she said.

"Well, the money would've helped, that's no lie," Carl said with a shrug. "Maybe the phone will start ringing. You never know." He clinked his cup with hers. "_You_ should be proud of yourself."

"Thanks." She looked out the window. "It's a beautiful day."

"That it is," he replied.


End file.
